


Broken

by Pastel_simmer03



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Depression, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_simmer03/pseuds/Pastel_simmer03
Summary: Harry can't do it anymore. He has given everything he has. Everything he is. But it wasn't enough.





	Broken

He sat on the edge of the bed, just listening. He could hear Aunt Petunia banging the vacuum cleaner around downstairs for the third time today. The annoying beeps of Dudley's game console, the murmurings of the television his uncle was watching. But he just couldn't bring himself to care about anything going on around him. His ribs were still sore from last night. The constant ache reminding him that he was just a burden on his "family". He felt the weariness pulling on his consciousness. The fatigue never quite leaving his body. But that's what happens when you stay awake for three days in a row because of the never ending nightmares. He knew he was going to have to give into the exhaustion at some point. But hopefully by then he was be so tired that he had a dreamless night. For he dreaded to think what would happen if he woke his uncle up again. The stinging on his back is enough evidence of the consequences.

He was brought out of his musings by the sounds of his uncle stomping up the stairs. Dread filled his nerves like lead, settling in every bone and joint. When the door slammed open he knew it was futile to fight back. Pointless. For he was unlovable, a freak, worthless. He knew it. His relatives knew it. The words were carved into his back so it wasn't like he was ever going to forget it. But even as he thought this, the sharp sting of the leather hitting his back made him attempt to struggle out of his uncles grip. The resulting punch in the gut silencing the young boy. For he was that. A child. Helpless against the obstacles the world threw at him.

Hours passed, or it could have been days. He didn't know. Didn't care. All he knew was that when his uncle finally left his room he was a bloody mess on floor. Curled in a foetal position, covering his vital organs with his limbs. His black hair was matted with dried blood and grime he hasn't had the chance to wash away. Hollow eyes stared out from behind the curly bangs. Emerald green eyes that shouldn't belong to someone so young were staring blankly at the wall. There was no light behind the eyes. The horrors that had been unleashed on this child was just too much. From the corner of the room an owl hooted feebly, worried about its owner. The dead eyes snapped to the large bird. The first signs of life he had showed. Slowly he peeled himself from the floor and dragged himself to his bed. He reached under the floorboards and brought out three things. A piece of blank paper, a blunt pencil and a razor. The blade glinted deadly in the light of the setting sun that came from the small window. He ignored it and focused on getting his broken and mangled fingers to cooperate with him and grasp the pencil.

Slowly he brought the tip of the pencil to the paper and began writing. The only sounds that could be heard from his room was the gentle scraping noise of graphite on paper. After he finished he reached out and grasped the small blade in his hand. Balancing it on his small scarred hand. He calmly brought the razor up the his small skinny wrists and gently slid it along leaving trails of red blood behind. Sluggishly he moved to slice the other. Time almost seemed to stop moving as the piece of metal fell and landed silently on the blood soaked carpet. He slumped over with his back resting against the bed. The eyes were unstaring at the wall as the little amount of light that still occupied them slowly disappeared. A ghost of a smile could be seen on the young boy who was forced to grow up too fast.

  
On the floor next to the broken body of the fifteen year old was a note.

  
_Dear whoever finds this. I am sorry, I tried to fight your war but I have my own demons to battle. I tried and I am sorry because I failed. Hopefully the hero you all wanted me to be will come along and save you from Voldemort. I cant do it anymore. Hiding behind a mask. Its exhausting, smiling and laughing when on the inside I'm dying. I know I deserved what I got, and I know I am being selfish, but, I give up. I am with my parents and Sirius. I am happy now. I am with my family, in a better place, Please, don't grieve for me, for I am finally home. Harry James Potter_  



End file.
